by K. L. Savage
“I think it’s brave what she did. She did it because she loves you, just like you’d do the same for her.”
“She’s crazy to do something like this for me. I’m not worth it.”
Doc pierces her inner elbow with the IV and taps it in place, so it doesn’t move before hooking fluids up. “She thinks you’re worth it. Isn’t that what matters?” He grabs a syringe and then opens a medicine cabinet, taking out a clear bottle with a name I can’t pronounce.
Small words are the only thing I can read at this point.
Doc inserts the needle in the tube, and I stop him by grabbing his hand. “What is that?”
“A sedative, and then I’m going to give her a pain killer. She’ll be okay, but burns are painful, especially ones of this severity. It’s third degree. I need to clean it and bandage it. Even then, she’s going to be in a lot of pain.”
“So give her more pain killers,” I say, letting go of his hand so he can do his job.
His thumb presses against the syringe and the clear liquid enters the tube slowly. “It isn’t that simple, Tongue. Remember Moretti? I kept him in a coma for a long time, because even when burn patients are asleep, they are still in pain. Medicine can only do so much. Imagine your nerves being split open and exposed to the world, hot and on fire, and over sensitive. Luckily, the burn is contained to one part of her body, so the process of recovery will be quick, but it doesn’t mean it’s less painful.”
“She’s in pain because of me?” I never want her to hurt. All I’ve ever wanted from the moment I laid eyes on her was to protect her and hold her. I didn’t want the world to put a hand on her, including my world, and look at what I’ve done.
“I guess you can look at it like that,” Doc says, tossing the syringe in the trash. “It’s definitely half-empty glass.”
“How else would I look at it?”
“Well, she’s in pain for you. She decided this, not you. This is what she wanted. Who else have you known to want to do that for you? Besides us, of course.”
I keep my mouth shut and decide not to breach that topic. The only people I know I can trust are Daphne and Slingshot.
“You’re not going to want to watch this. I have to peel away the dead skin,” Doc informs me as he snaps on gloves. He sits down on the stool that’s on the other side of the bed and gathers his medical equipment. I don’t know what they all are, but they look sharp, silver, and deadly.
“I’m not going anywhere.” The only way I get up and walk out of here is if someone forcibly removes me. The heartrate monitor beeps the tune of her life and I hang my head, relieved. I know she is nowhere near dying, but still. Her heartbeat is soothing to hear.
The machines sound from behind me too, which reminds me of Sarah. I feel awful for not asking about her sooner, but my mind has been focused on Daphne. “How is Sarah?”
“She’s fine. Tired. She admitted she hadn’t been sleeping well because of the pain. Apparently it started in the middle of night, but she ignored it because she didn’t want it to be a miscarriage.”
“Is it?”
“No,” Doc says, cleaning the burned heart on Daphne’s chest. “It’s the muscle, and it isn’t your fault. I know a hundred people can tell you that right now, but only you can believe it.”
“I don’t believe in belief. Everything is black and white. It’s either yes or no, you did or didn’t. There’s nothing in between.”
“Oh, you can’t really believe that? There are so many things in between. That’s why the color gray matters. It’s in the gray, Tongue. Look for belief there.”
That makes no sense, and it sounds like a fucking palm reader, which reminds me of Seer. Why hasn’t he called? Why didn’t he see this coming? He always says he has to take a step away, but he never does. Maybe he listened to his own advice?
Damn it, Seer.
A pair of long tweezers in hand, he starts peeling the black flesh off her chest. My grip tightens around her hand as he tugs. “Is this necessary? It looks so painful.”
“Unfortunately,” he answers, dropping the dead skin in the silver basin. “I need fresh, uninjured skin to make sure this heals correctly, but I can’t avoid scarring. That’s impossible.”
The sound of the basement door slamming open stops me from getting up and doing something I’d regret later.
“Man, you can’t mean that! I’m not going to let you go. You can’t leave me.” Slingshot jumps midway on the steps and crashes against the floor, loses his footing, then hits the wall face first. “We just became friends, and you’re just going to go? What about everything we shared? Happy’s swamp? Was it just me, or did we share something out there, huh? I thought we had something special, Tongue.” Slingshot’s hands fly to his waist, staring me down like some housewife who got cheated on.
“What?”
“Oh, what? Like you don’t understand. We are friends. Best buds, bro-lios, bro-manos, brosephs, brochachos—no, we are better than that, we are bro-tacos. And you… you would just leave me.”
“I have no idea what is happening right now,” Doc singsongs under his breath. “But I never want it to stop.” He releases another charcoaled piece of skin. Slowly, the patch of pink skin he wants is being revealed, but he still has a long way to go.
I squint my eyes at Doc, wondering if it would be bad for me to kill the doctor of our fine establishment.
Probably.
“Slingshot, I don’t know what… a bro-rrito is, but I don’t think I like the sound of it.”
“Bro-rrito, that’s good. I like that.” Slingshot finger guns me and winks.
“No, you said Bro—no, you know what? It doesn’t matter. I have to protect Daphne. It isn’t safe for her here. We are friends, Slingshot, but you belong here.”
“You’re saying you don’t?” he asks, dragging an extra chair from the wall to the front of the hospital bed.
“I know I belong with Daphne. Things haven’t been the same here.”
“Things have been rocky, but things will go back to normal—”
“—They don’t trust me,” I cut him off and give him my back. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Daphne is my priority.”
“Just promise you’ll think about it. Promise you won’t go without trying to mend what you think is broken here.”
“I don’t think, Slingshot. I know. There’s a difference.”
“Then make it different. Fix whatever is fucked up between you and Reaper. This is your home. I hate that we have been brothers for all these years and I’m just now getting to know you. You’re my friend, Tongue. You can’t go.”
“You were thinking of leaving?”
“Come on, Doc,” I groan and stare up at the ceiling to gain some composure when I hear the disappointment in his voice. “You know it was bound to happen.”
“I didn’t know, and it’s a shame to hear. We wouldn’t be where we are today without you.”
“You only need me because I do what you all can’t,” I sneer.
Holding Daphne’s hand, I press my forehead against the side of the bedrail. It’s cool against my skin and exhaustion taps against the front of my skull. I’m tired of fighting. I want peace. I want a life with Daphne, and I want to be able to be good enough to be a father to our kids.
I’ll teach them how to kill, of course. Every kid should know how to protect themselves, so what happened to me, doesn’t happen to them.
“Tongue—” Doc drags another crispy chunk of skin off Daphne’s chest. “If you really believe that, then it isn’t you who has failed us, it is us who’ve failed you. Regardless of your decision, I will always be your friend. Selfishly, I want you to stay. Selflessly, I want you to do what you think is best for you and your family.”
“No, fuck that. I’m selfish.” Slingshot hits his chest with his hand. “I’m selfish as fuck. I don’t want you to go. You’ve turned into my best friend. What’s best is if you stay here. Things can be fixed. You have to give it a chance. I’m
going to go check on Happy. He’s been iffy the last few hours. since you haven’t been here.” Slingshot storms away and in a typical dramatic fashion, he stomps up the stairs as hard as he can. He never takes his eyes off me. With every thud of his boot, I bet he is picturing my head as he steps on it.
“You know he means well,” Doc says, continuing to work on the burned heart above Daphne’s breast.
“I know.”
We fall into a comfortable silence after that, and I’m left thinking what kind of man I would have become or where I would have been if my life had been normal. Would I have met Daphne? Would I have a psychopath of a brother? Would I crave blood? An alternate life for an alternate man, a dream that will never come to formation in my mind, no matter how much I think on it.
“Have you thought about what she would say about leaving?”
“What?”
“Daphne.” He squeezes a clear bottle, and some form of solution comes out of the nozzle, cleaning the wound of debris before he starts prying the skin off again. “What if she doesn’t want to go? What if she wants to stay?”
“I…” I hadn’t thought of that. I assumed she’d want to leave. “I don’t know.”
“Well, take it from experience, include her in on this decision. Because if you make it without her, there might be hell to pay. And there is no hell like a woman pissed off.” Doc grins, patting the wound gently.
Damn, he’s right. I have to give her a choice unless I want to sleep outside with Happy.
“So where did you go? You’re all busted up,” Doc notices the cuts on my arms and the one on my face. “Do you have any glass I need to get out of there?”
“Probably, but I don’t care about me. Take care of her.” I bite my thumb nail and shake my leg. The chair I’m in starts to squeak from the vibrations my leg is causing. I’ve always had issues voicing what I want to talk about. Sometimes, it takes me a minute to gather my thoughts and what I want to say, and other times, it’s because I don’t want to say anything at all.
“I’m going to guess you went and saw your brother. You had questions, he had answers. And you didn’t like them.”
“What are you, Seer?” I snort, ripping a hangnail from my thumb.
“No, but he did call me and tell me.” Doc has a knowing expression on his face, one that is smug. He’s enjoying this. “Told me to be prepared for a busy night. Damn, he wasn’t wrong.”
“He could have called me.”
“You fuckers never answer him.” Doc cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders before hunching over and starting on the other half of the heart.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but nothing comes out.
He’s right.
“Maybe if everyone got their head out of their ass, a lot less discourse and more understanding would happen, but no. We have to be prideful and beat our chests. It’s shit like that pushing people away,” Doc confides. “So prove me wrong. Tell me about your brother.”
“I can’t, Doc. Not right now, please. And he isn’t my brother. I need everyone to stop calling him that. Remember everything he did on Halloween? He’s still that man.”
“Mmhmm,” Doc hums, clearly wanting to say something, but doesn’t, which means he has a different thought process.
My mind is too fog-dense to care more than I’m capable of in this moment.
I’m lost.
Until Daphne wakes up, I’ll linger in the dark, tucked away in the corners of my mind, and hope she’s able to find me.
Two days later
Holy Moly.
If someone told me I got hit by a sledgehammer or by a truck, or a horse kicked me in the chest, I’d believe them. The sheets under me are slick, different from what I’m used to on Tongue’s bed. I rub my hands over them, pinching the material in my fingers, then pop my eyes open when I know undoubtedly that these are not Tongue’s sheets.
These are silk.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My throat is raw and sore, as if I swallowed a thousand razorblades. My eyes are glued shut from the crust of sleep, and I squint them together, bring my fist up, and rub. I squint as my vision adjusts. I blink a few times to clear the blur and when my eyes finally focus, I notice I’m in a room that looks a lot like the master suite that is being built in our house.
I tug my arm and cringe when something jerks above my elbow.
An IV?
Since when?
I take a good look around the room. It smells of sawdust and paint. The bed is huge, and I’m nestled on the right side of it. There is a walk-in closet and an oversized black claw-foot bathtub near the window so we can look out toward the mountains.
Wondering if I’m in our room, I lift my lashes and blush, a fever drifting through the marrow of my bones when I see the mirror above us.
Oh yeah, this is our room.
I hold my breath and push myself into a seated position, grunting as the skin on the left side of my chest pulls. I cry out from the pain and slump against the bed.
I want to get up, use the restroom, and brush these fuzzy teeth. I feel disgusting.
The door is kicked open and the gold knob hits the wall, denting the new paint. Tongue is there. Shirtless. Chest heaving. His chest hair is covered in saw dust.
Someone send help. I can’t breathe.
“Comet, you’re awake.” He runs over to my side of the bed, tracking in wood chips. When he kneels, I get hit with a fresh wave of sweat and pine with a hint of leather.
“I—” but I can’t get the words out. My throat is as dry as cotton. I begin to uncontrollably cough, and my chest is screaming with a lash of fire.
“Sip.” He brings a plastic cup in front of my mouth with a silver-reusable straw. “It’s water.”
I wrap my lips around the straw and the taste of metal reminds me of blood. I suck down the icy cold liquid and I groan in relief as it coats the back of my throat. I can’t get enough. I drink quicker, as if I’ve been stranded in the desert for days on end.
“Shhh, slower, Comet. Don’t get yourself sick,” he croons, brushing a hand down my arm.
I don’t listen. I keep drinking until there is nothing left.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Now that I’ve been awake for more than five minutes, I remember everything. I nod. “Reaper listened to me,” I grin. “I was your champion.”
His thick fingers land on the side of my jaw, adding pressure to turn my head. “Don’t ever do that again. I can’t stand to see you get hurt.” His eyes lock with mine, turmoil swirling the depth of the earthy tones.
His eyes hold earthquakes that shake my core.
My eyes hold tsunamis to drown his enemies.
And one is always a possibility after the other.
Together, we destroy and give reason to rebuild.
“You scared me,” he admits. “It’s going to scar, Daphne. Doc did the best he could, but it’s so deep. It’s going to take a long time to heal.”
“I don’t care. I’d do it a hundred times for you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you,” I croak.
“Which I’ll never understand as long as I live, but I’ll never stop being thankful.” His eyes drift over my face, then stop when he sees my hair. His eyes widen and his lips roll together to keep from laughing.
“I know, I look like I had a few too many.”
“You look beautiful. I don’t care when you think you don’t, you always do.”
“The charmer,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Can you help me to the bathroom? And is this our house?”
“The only room that’s done is this room, the bathroom, and the kitchen.”
“Why aren’t we in the clubhouse?”
He picks me up, keeping my injured side on the outside and my good side tucked near his chest. “I didn’t want us to be there. I needed space. It was too hard seeing Reaper do that to you. I swear, he liked it. I bet he thought he was getting me back.”
/> “You can’t really think that?” I utter in disbelief.
He sets me on the vanity and grabs my toothbrush.
Wets it.
Toothpastes it.
Wets it again.
Anyone who doesn’t apply toothpaste like this is not human and needs lessons in brushing their teeth. He grunts and grumbles, muttering but not directly speaking to me. He shoves the toothbrush between my lips, and I nearly gag.
I take the handle and do my business, then scrub days’ worth of bad breath off my tongue. I spit in the sink and he has a cup of water ready for me to gargle with.
“Are you in pain? I had to unhook your IV to come in here.”
“Yeah, can we talk after I pee? Have I peed in the last two days? Oh my god, is my bladder going to explode?”
Tongue chuckles, lifting me again, tugs my pants down, and sits me on the toilet.
And doesn’t leave.
He crosses his arms and waits. “Doc took your catheter out earlier this morning because he knew you’d wake up. He sedated you for a few days to give your body much needed rest.”
“It’s a small burn, Tongue. I would have been fine being awake. And I can’t pee with you watching.”
“You can do other things when I’m watching,” he lowers his voice to a deep baritone, reminding me of a musician plucking a string of a bass.
“Go and close the door!” I giggle, then hiss as the pain ignites under the bandage.
“Fine.” He closes the door, but I can see the outline of his body through the frosted glass.
I shake my head but smile, loving how protective and worried he is about me. I do my business and get up, open the door, and find him standing there.
Wayne Hendrix.
My once upon a comet.
And damn, I never thought the wish would come true.
“I love you too,” he says, noticing the loving expression I have plastered across my face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I bet you’ll feel better. Doc will be by again soon to check on you and later, after dinner, I want to talk to you about moving.”
“Moving? Why would we move? Where?”
“Away from here. If you want. Since we aren’t treated like we should be.” He unbuttons the green plaid shirt I’m wearing and slides it off my shoulders. His fingers brush along my collarbone, staring at the wound. “This never should have happened.”